Monday, 23 June 2014

Death IS my dominion Starlight blinded Zombie Thomas, You flow over London bridge with the rest, Patronising, haunted, A leather-bound Dylanesque anxiety guitar. Inglorious, muddy Roman-Greco mechanical wrestling echoes through the trenches of Khandahar, fuelled by the throat-red shrill of frightened banshee teens.

My death will be glorious. This death will be my own. But no red pin will cradle my lapel, Not on white tracksuit tops Or on baseball caps, Turned backward in futile defiance To whatever is left of rebellion.

The tractor trailer mechanically forced grain into the football pitch.
The seeds like anti-depressant pills;
The grass will grow,
with symbiotic weeds,
and keep growing.
Kids will kick balls around in a semi-chaos,
Stunt time,
Remind our fathers of how fucked up they make their offspring.
GOAL.